Sweet: The Murphy Blackwell Chronicles, #2

By Iris Kain

It's a world where danger and spells often entwine, and Murphy Blackwell figured shedding her role as a chaos witch meant her troubles were over. But becoming a Summate, one who wields every variety of power in the craft, has unveiled some new—and daunting—challenges.

A love spell gone haywire, an ominous spirit's warning of a rival coven's deadly intentions, and a malevolent scheme poised to plunge the world into anarchy mark just the start of her worries. As Murphy's very life and the fate of the world hang in the balance, she must draw upon her newfound Summate abilities and rally the strength of the entire Lughaidh coven to navigate the treacherous path ahead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pirate Farm Books
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781957244242

Iris Kain

Over the years, Iris Kain has called Michigan, Arizona, South Carolina, Georgia, and Germany home. She loves gargoyles, spiders, and black cats, as well as anything that makes you laugh while checking your closet for critters with teeth. She's a fan of horror and hard rock, and enjoys playing the piano. She currently resides in Alabama with her son, cats, and two adorable Swedish Vallhund dogs.

Book preview

Chapter 1 

Maybe February wouldn’t suck this year, but I wasn’t holding my breath. It hadn’t been too bad so far, but something was making my skin itch this morning. I sent a psychic feeler to the wards around Blackwell Manor, the building that housed my home and business, and felt slightly more assured when I saw they were still intact. I didn’t feel ready to let my guard down, though.

Hanna—my best friend and coconspirator—tweaked the angle of a crystal heart candleholder to reflect prisms of light onto the shelf below it. She stepped back, pulling a wavy strand of hair the color of polished tigers-eye behind an ear with a tanned hand.

What do you think, Murphy?

I let out a forced laugh. I think love is your specialty, girl. Not mine.

Hanna presented the stunning half-smile that kept her calendar booked with aspiring suitors and shook her head, her eyes twinkling. It could be, you know.

So I’d been told. I could be any type of witch I wanted to be—or all of them. I was the Summate. That was my... well, I still wasn’t sure if gift was the right word for it, but in the last five months, I’d learned not to hate it. It sure was a pain when I felt a magical itch I couldn’t scratch.

The tinkling of bells hanging over the door drew our attention to the entrance, where my first-ever boyfriend, Conall Berry, entered. Tall, fit, with wide brown eyes and a ready grin, Conall and I had finally admitted our feelings for one another last October during a tornado. It was a pretty crazy month.

I came around the counter and gave Conall a fierce hug, and he returned my fervent embrace as he lifted me off the ground the way he liked to do. He smelled like he’d just stepped out of the shower, which he probably had taken after his day job working construction. I giggled, and he set me down and gave me a big kiss.

‘Love is your specialty, not mine,’ Hanna quipped with a saucy bobble of her head. I waved her off with a blush and a giggle. I swear, I don’t think I ever giggled or blushed before Conall and I got together. If I did, I don’t remember it.

Pretty display, Hanna, Conall remarked, his deep voice gentle and sincere.

"See? Somebody can appreciate my decorative skills, Hanna said with a broad sweep of her hands that would have made Vanna White fear for her job. You just don’t like red because it clashes with that green and yellow spring display you’re so proud of."

I kept my eyes fixed on Conall as he roamed the shop, casually snatching a cookie and pouring himself a steamy cup of coffee from behind the counter. If there was anyone with a knack for detecting peculiar, otherworldly energies lurking nearby, it was him. Yet, he displayed no inkling of such forces. Not even a twitch.

Hanna had a point about that whole matching thing, I guess. But then again, I was never much concerned about that. I was more of a Converse and T-shirt woman. I’d put on silver stud earrings or a silver necklace when I felt fancy. Small silver hoops if I felt really fancy. Unlike me, everything about Hanna matched: her rosy nail polish and lipstick, her striped sweater, her fashionable pants that showed off her fit legs, and her red shoes. She has that gift. My gift is making it to work in time to open the door without appearing like I just rolled out of bed. Jeans and T-shirts with a fresh-scrubbed face were more my vibe. I’d made a recent exception for a Claddagh ring Conall bought me for Christmas.

Conall pulled out a chair and strategically positioned himself so he could engage in conversation with both of us. He stretched his long legs out, crossed his ankles, and shot me an affectionate grin that melted my heart despite my current state of magical alert.

"Y’all are so cute it’s disgusting," Hanna commented, her words dripping with sarcasm as she picked up the Windex and paper towels she’d used to clean the shelf.

Hey Hanna, what are we doing for your birthday? I asked to change the subject. Yeah, the universe had not only made February the month where Hanna’s red-witch skills shone, and it was also her birthday month. She was an Aquarius: prone to a positive outlook, rebellious wide streak, and an unending drive to help global and local communities. 

She set the glass cleaner under the counter and tossed the used paper towels into the trash. I don’t know. I thought—

Clunk.

All three of our heads swiveled to the front of the store, where a resin deer figure now sat on its side on the cherry wood floor. I winced. My house and shop were in an older Victorian home, and there were rare instances when the timeworn framework, drafty windows, and general age caused mishaps like falling items. Unfortunately, I’d lost a handful of inventory to damage from these mishaps over the years. Occasionally Rex, my old black cat and familiar, was guilty of breakage, but rarely.

This time, though, the sound alerted me to an invisible presence. As my attention shifted, I sensed that a fourth entity had joined us at the front of the store. My brow furrowed as a sensation of pins and needles caressed my skin.

Y’all feel that?

Feel what? Conall asked.

Well, that answers that question. If psychic Conall was unaware of an otherworldly entity, it was my unique brand of energy that made it possible for me to sense it. I couldn’t tell if the force was positive or negative, which made me wonder if Conall felt nothing because there was nothing. Still, I focused inward to my third eye, willing my relatively newfound psychic sight to work. I panned the store with my human eyes and my extrasensory one for energies or entities and saw nothing out of the ordinary, but the nagging feeling we weren’t alone didn’t subside.

Hanna tiptoed toward the resin deer figure as if she believed it might not be damaged, as long as she didn’t frighten it. She bent over, gingerly picked it up, brushed it off with a long finger, and inspected it from every angle. Her hair now framed a look of confusion and concern.

It’s fine, she marveled. Not even a broken antler. Funny, though... I don’t remember it being close to the edge of the shelf. Her voice faltered as she pointed to where the figure had fallen.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as the crystal heart candleholder that Hanna had admired earlier rocked ominously, its facets casting prismatic beams of light across the room. I continued examining my shop surreptitiously for a presence, a cause for the movement, but saw nothing.

Hanna replaced the figure in the spot where he’d been on the shelf, placing him a tad farther away from the edge for safety.

Thump.

Our heads pivoted together again to an Imbolc wreath made of pine boughs, bright yellow and white ribbons, and flowers with a white ceramic stag’s head fixed at the top. It had fallen from the hook on the wall behind a circular table and landed on its back. Not a petal or needle had separated from the wreath. The ceramic stag remained intact.

Stepping out from behind the counter, I approached the wreath, tiptoeing in much the same way Hanna had moments before. I eyed the hook embedded in the wall that had held the wreath. It was cast iron and still anchored sturdily. A wide ribbon woven into the wreath had kept it at an acute angle from the wall. There was no way that it had fallen unless the ribbon had torn.

I lifted the wreath and inspected the white silk ribbon positioned inside the bow behind the stag’s head. I stuck a finger inside the loop and made a circuit of the fabric, tugging on it as I went. It was as unbroken as the day I’d gotten it from Miriam, the coven rose witch who’d designed it.

Our playful banter had become silent as I stood on a chair to hang the wreath back in place. Conall came to my side to spot me in case I wobbled. A lifetime of having the woman you love living as an accident-prone gray witch will have that effect on a boyfriend.

I draped the silk loop over the iron hook and hung the price tag so customers could easily see the price should they be interested in buying it. Conall took my hand and helped me hop down from my perch.

Click. Slap.

What in the—? I couldn’t finish the statement, and the pins and needles were back. Conall and Hanna watched with knitted brows as I followed the sound to where a deer magnet had fallen from the display near the register. I picked up the antlered bust and returned it to the metal display backing. It stayed in place just fine.

The three of us stood almost equidistant around the room, scanning the shop for another falling item. Once again, I used my sight to search the room for unseen visitors, but got nothing. From the way Conall’s lips pressed together as his wide brown eyes darted around the shop, he’d had similar results. The air felt thick with an unseen presence, but neither Conall nor I saw so much as a flicker of otherworldly spirits, even with our supernatural gifts.

After a couple of minutes of silence, every second of which had chill bumps dancing on my spine, Hanna spoke.

What do you think that was about?

Conall shook his head. I didn’t see anything or anyone unusual. But now I can feel... something.

What does it feel like? My heart beating faster now that Conall had confirmed that something wasn’t right.

Maybe I’m just weirded out right now from everything falling like that, he said, his voice sounded strangely hushed and his usual good humor replaced with a hint of fear.

But this has to mean something, I insisted. Three deer falling inexplicably in such quick succession?

Hanna stood with her arms crossed protectively in front of her. I don’t like this. I’m getting really creeped out, y’all.

The universe is telling us something, Conall said. The deer are symbolic. Any ideas, you two?

Neither Hanna nor I had an inkling of the symbolism behind the deer.

I studied my friends with concern. Three deer. Three of us. I had had too many supernatural omens during my life to believe it was a coincidence. But what did it mean?

Chapter 2 

The jingling of the bells above the door announced the arrival of customers to Witch’s Brew, my metaphysical shop and coffeehouse. This time it was two of my favorites. Jake, the tall, soft-hearted metalhead musician, and his slim, shy girlfriend Cadence strolled in, their hands intertwined. I couldn’t believe they’d be celebrating their four-year anniversary as a couple on Valentine’s Day. They were only juniors in high school. Longevity in relationships at that age is unheard of, but those two made it work. From what I’d seen, their communication with one another was mature beyond their years. I’m not sure about reincarnation, but if it exists, I’d wager these two were soulmates from another timeline.

Murphy! Jake hailed with the lift of a solidly built hand and smiling blue eyes.

Jake! I hollered back in kind. He grinned, and I pointed two fingers at them. Salted caramel mocha and a skinny vanilla latte? I asked, and they nodded.

And an Irish crème coffee, too! chirped Betony, trailing in behind them. Last week, her hair had been peacock blue. This week, she’d tied her shoulder-length red hair in low pigtails that framed her round face. Her hazel eyes with gray centers smiled as she saw the three of us.

Betony was the reason why until last year I’d thought I was a gray witch—a chaos witch. Blackwell Manor was the only place where I felt safe. For years I lived upstairs, ran Witch’s Brew out of the downstairs, and protected the world from my destructive power by staying behind my home’s heavily warded doors as much as physically possible.

Turns out, I was only reflecting the chaos energy of one of my regulars, a sweet local high school junior. Betony Yarborough.

Only, I say. As if reflecting Betony’s chaos wasn’t enough. When Betony found out she was a chaos witch, she did not take it well. Like, uprooted trees, caused a tornado, knocked out streetlights, nearly killed my boyfriend, did kill her father, and wound up in a juvenile detention center bad. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. Her dad, that is, not my boyfriend. The way her god-awful father abused her... well, no kid deserves that. No human deserves that. And it was easy enough to forgive Betony, since most of that damage happened while her horrible dad’s spirit possessed her.

It was a wild Samhain. The whole last half of October was pretty insane.

Sure thing, Bet. Irish crème coming up, I replied, swiftly getting to work on their coffees. They grabbed a couple of chairs, situating themselves at a nearby table where we could easily chat. A few more high schoolers sauntered in right after them, prompting Conall to rise and lend a hand in taking their orders.

Betony officially became my apprentice in the craft once she was released from the juvenile facility. Currently, she resided with LaDonna Whelen, my former foster mother and the esteemed high priestess of the Lughaidh coven. Fortunately, the court recognized Betony’s actions as self-defense in the case of her father’s demise. Now, she dedicated her days to refining her skills as a gray witch under LaDonna’s guidance, while I continued my journey as a burgeoning Summate. As part of her training, Betony delved into the depths of shadow work, aiding others in confronting their darkest moments, traumas, and tragedies. Her progress was nothing short of remarkable, thanks to her own experiences with personal healing and her innate talent for connecting with people as a compassionate gray witch.

After our small after-school rush, I wrapped up pricing my herbs, shelved them on the storage racks, and joined the kids at their table. The fourth member of their crew, Lorina, had joined them during our rush and was tapping drum beats on the edge of her chair with reed-thin fingertips. Once fire-engine red on one half and coal black on the other, Lorina’s hair had been cut into a messy, asymmetrical bob and dyed a more natural brown color. Her curls, previously weighed down by length, now waved in adorable abandon as she swayed to the rhythm.

Rex had curled up into Betony’s lap and was purring contentedly. He’d come a long way from the crotchety old cat who had nothing to do with her when her chaos energy was untamed.

How y’all doing? I asked.

Betony is worried that she won’t have anyone to take to the Valentine events at school, Cadence said.

Valentine... events? I said, puzzled.

Nobody really does dances anymore, Jake explained. Our school has a pep rally for the spring athletes and passes out chocolates with little cards attached to them as a fundraiser for cheerleaders.

Lots of folks get prom invitations in the Valentine cards, Cadence added.

Lorina snorted with laughter. V-card, she said. The three of them giggled at that, and it took a second for me to understand they didn’t mean Valentine. Virginity. Right.

Oh. I felt so out of touch between the slang and the missing rite of passage of high school dances. The Gryphon High Valentine’s Day dance had been a big deal when I was high-school age, which wasn’t that long ago. Not that I ever went. LaDonna homeschooled me as a safety measure after too many catastrophes in middle and high school. Which was fine for me. Awkward teen didn’t even begin to describe my high school years. Try hell on fiery, emotional adolescent, accident-prone wheels.

Hanna helped herself to a cup of coffee and a cookie from behind the counter. She added a touch of her sweetened rosewater stash to the mug before joining Conall at the table next to ours. She leaned over to Conall and me and as her brown eyes watched Cadence and Jake, she muttered, They are so cute together. And everything about them complements one another. She motioned at them with a hand full of oversized cookie.

Huh? Jake asked, his eyebrows raising as he noticed her observation.

Nothing, she said with a flirty smile, and she turned back to face Conall.

The door chimes rang again, and as I started to stand, Conall gave me an I’ve got this hand motion and darted behind the counter.

God, is it prom season already? I said to no one in particular.

Not yet, Cadence said, a long-fingered hand smoothing back her wiry curls, That’s not until April, but some people plan way in advance.

Which is stupid, Jake said. I mean, who wants to think that far ahead?

"Well, just because you know who you’re going to take already doesn’t mean the rest of us do," Betony chided.

You haven’t officially asked me, Cadence reminded Jake.

He frowned. Do you need me to? I mean... Cadence’s wry expression seemed to knock the breath from him. He took her hand in his and looked her in the eyes. Cadence Mackenzie Hemingford, will you go to prom with me?

Yes, you dork. Of course, I’ll go with you. She grinned and bopped him on the head, ruffling his shoulder-length hair as she did so.

Finished with the customer, Conall stepped out from behind the counter and strode toward Hanna’s table. As he passed a display of crystal balls, he faltered. His eyes locked on a clear crystal ball posed on a rose quartz lotus flower. He froze, then blinked, transfixed by whatever had drawn his interest to the ball.

Conall is an orange witch with the gift of prediction who has supernaturally powerful insight. In the evenings, he often hangs out at my shop. He has a regular clientele that he sees who love getting tarot and oracle readings from him. I’m not sure if it’s the readings they love, since he’s typically spot-on, or if it’s getting the chance to hide behind a curtain in a walk-in closet-size room with my hunky boyfriend, but whatever. I trust him, and it’s a great side gig for him. Plus, it gives us an excuse to hang out most nights.

I sat up, concerned with the way his unblinking eyes and furrowed brow studied whatever he saw in the crystal globe. Conall? Everything alright?

He swung his head from side to side slowly. No. No, it’s not. He blinked, tore his gaze from the ball, then strode purposefully to his reading room and retrieved his satin drawstring bag of tarot cards.

Conall, what’s wrong? Hanna inquired.

Conall fetched my purification spray and a black satin tarot spread cloth from my cupboard. Muscles tense, the corner of his mouth tight, he cleaned off the table where Hanna sat and wiped it with a cotton rag before spreading the satin cloth atop it. The rest of us sat silently, watching my typically laid-back boyfriend move with an uncharacteristic intensity.

I saw a deer, he explained, his voice cross. He withdrew his tarot cards from the midnight blue bag. His traditional Rider-Waite deck was worn and lovingly dog-eared from years of use.

"What the fuck? Another one?" I said. The teens at my table shot each other a confused look, but there wasn’t time to explain.

When cards are laid for a tarot spread, the seer sends their requested answers to the deck, and if the dealer has the gift of prediction, the way Conall does, the deck responds. To my surprise, Conall opted not to do his preferred five-card spread or the more elaborate Celtic cross arrangement. After a brief shuffle with his eyes closed, Conall flipped the cards he needed into place with practiced flicks of the wrist. He laid three cards down: center, left, right.

Past, present, future? I ventured as I surveyed the cards.

Situation, action, outcome, he replied, his thick brows meeting in the center.

I took in the cards on the table, and my face mirrored his concern. Mmm. That’s, that’s not good.

To those unfamiliar with the tarot, the three cards on the table might not mean much. Normally, I’d never assume how another witch interpreted their spread, but these cards left little to decode, even for an inexperienced reader. To Conall and me, it spoke volumes.

The situation card was the Tower: danger, destruction, crisis, or unforeseen change.

The action card: Death, inverted. Tumultuous change. So not just change, but turbulent change. Great.

The outcome card: the Hanged Man. Trials. Heroic Sacrifice.

Damn, that’s a lot, I said, concern thickening my voice.

Yeah. Resting his palms on the table, his fingers draping over the edge, Conall studied the cards with an intensity suitable for a complex Celtic cross spread, rather than a simple three-card reading. Leaning in closer, he shifted his weight to his right leg, gracefully crossing his left behind him in a pose that resembled the Hanged Man. The sun emerged from behind a cloud, casting a radiant glow around Conall, completing the eerie likeness.

Chapter 3 

Betony stood at Conall’s elbow, ready to learn as usual. Conall and I explained the tarot spread’s significance to her. As she took it all in, her attention intermittently shifted to the young man whom Conall had previously served. He sat alone at a table, engrossed in his phone, rapidly tapping the screen with agile thumbs. With dark skin, short, curly hair, heavy-lidded brown eyes, and a strong jaw with a surprising amount of stubble for a teen, he was everything that Betony was not typically attracted to: lean, fit, and male. Even his clothes—a leather racing jacket and black jeans that ended in black leather brand-name athletic shoes—screamed masculine. Betony’s taste usually ran into androgynous males or other young women in her class.

Bet? I ducked my head to interrupt her distracted inspection of the newcomer. You OK? Is he bothering you?

Her hazel eyes, with their gray-ringed pupil, refocused on me. What? Oh, no. I’m just... She blushed adorably and dropped her eyes to the cards. She fidgeted with the hem of the silk spread cloth, caught herself fussing with a magical item that wasn’t hers, and stopped. His name is Rene Basilio, she said. He’s new, and he’s in my econ class. I heard he moved here from Atlanta. The way she gushed Atlanta, like it was a far-off place, reminded me how little Betony had seen of the United States.

Conall put up his cards, giving Betony and me a chance for some girl talk.

He’s very masculine, I remarked.

"I know, she said, her voice as confused as I was at her atypical crush. I don’t get it. He’s not my type at all! She caught the way her voice had shot up, and her eyes grew large as she drew up a hand to shield her face. Oh my god. I’m sorry. Is he looking?"

I snorted, glad that I wasn’t facing Rene squarely, so he didn’t see how I was smothering a laugh. I stole a glance in his general direction.

I can’t tell if he’s looking at you or Cadence, I said softly.

She sighed. Better not be Cadence, she said. I’ll be so upset. She’s already got Jake. She doesn’t need Rene.

"Neither of you needs Rene, I said, trying to appraise the newcomer without making it obvious. He is cute, though." The way the late afternoon sun came through the window made his dark skin look golden.

Betony made a frustrated sound and flopped into the nearest chair. I heard a crack and instinctively grabbed Betony’s elbow and jerked her upright as the chair under her collapsed with a broken leg.

How did you know—? Oh, wait. Summate witch, Betony said. She was right—my orange witch intuitive skills had grown dramatically with lessons from Conall.

My mind spun back to the card reading. The tower card suggested damage or possible jeopardy—events that typically happened when a gray witch did not focus her power the way Betony had recently learned to do. Unfocused chaos power can cause minor damage, like a broken chair, or worse. Much worse. Like death worse.

Bet, I said, please tell me you’re still concentrating on your shadow work.

Yeah, why?

Have you been working with others and their self-reflection, too? Kids at school and stuff?

What? Do you think I might be losing control of my chaos?

I’m not saying that for sure. You can’t risk letting this guy derail you from the progress you’ve made. I gave Rene a more earnest appraisal. He was pretty darn cute. I totally got why he’d be